Human Trafficking – The Slave Market in Zanzibar

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Human Trafficking, Slave markets, a difficult subject to write about.

In my previous post I told readers that I would “serialize” some of the highest rated segments of my latest release, “The Forgotten by Spencer Hawke”

Stonetown waterfront and dhow at dusk Zanzibar Tanzania Africa N Wheeler

Details Renee’s struggle after she wakes up in a strange boat shortly after being kidnapped and perhaps abused by Child Traffickers…


Tells the story of our victim Renee as she is lead into an
underground cave in Marseilles before she is shipped off to an auction, in parts unknown.


This week’s segment is the terrible moment when the dhow carrying Renee away across the oceans, finally docks in Zanzibar.

Read This Before You Buy Your Next Book!

The Slave Tunnels of Zanzibar

The boat came to a stop, banging up against a dock, throwing Renee from her makeshift stool with a violent shock. She went to the outside wall to peak through a small gap, in time to see one of the guards leap on shore, pulling a rope that creaked as it tightened to moor the boat to the landing jetty. Petrified, Renee felt sure this was the end of her voyage.

She turned as she heard the banging of heavy footsteps on the iron walkway outside her cell. The door was thrust open so suddenly that she jumped. A guard filled the doorway, one thin, pale arm held in his hand belonging to a child dragged along behind him.

“You, come!” the guard bellowed in broken English. When Renee did not immediately comply, his scowl deepened. “Come, now!” He reached for a short truncheon on his belt, and Renee forced herself to break the fear that froze her in her tracks and move forward for the sake of her life.

When she drew close, he stepped back into the gangway, pointing for her to step ahead of him heading toward the upper decks. She saw the figure of a frail girl dangling from the limp arm in his grasp. Only a couple years younger than Renee, her eyes were vacant, her jaw slack. Renee realized the guard did not drag the girl to force her to follow but simply to keep her upright and moving.

When they reached the top deck and neared the gangway, the guard tossed his rag doll onto a pile of ripped sheeting and grabbed Renee by the arm, tossing her to the dock. Before she could stand, he pitched his other captive after Renee, knocking her from her knees back onto her belly. Renee struggled to get up, pushing the other unmoving child off, as she made ready to stand up.

The guard grabbed them both then – their thin arms easily fitting into one of his massive palms. He then dragged them toward a flight of small stone steps, nearly overgrown with vegetation, leading up a slight incline.

Renee wondered where the other children were. She made no attempt to resist the brute. He soon swapped hands so that he held one captive on each side. Renee falling in line with the little ghost on his other side, she felt powerless to resist.

As if in a third dimension, she dragged one foot after the other as she was bid. At the top of the hill, they stopped in front of two large stone slabs on the ground, enough space between them for a man to squeeze through. The guard unceremoniously shoved the smaller girl through the gap, then pulled Renee closer and pushed her forward.

Now, she resisted with a vengeance. Her heart told her this was her last chance before entering purgatory. She punched her guard in the stomach; he didn’t even flinch, but for the first time she saw the most evil of smiles creep across his face, as if he enjoyed her panic.

The guard raised his massive hand and released it toward her head. Renee flew toward the gap between the rocks and fell the small distance to the bottom. In a semi-conscious state, she felt her jailer land on his feet beside her and sensed him still smiling evilly.

To Renee it all felt like a dream. She was tempted to speak – to talk to her guard, appeal to his sense of humanity. Her forehead was already beaded with salty sweat, dripping down her nose onto her tongue as she tried to moisten her cracked lips. The humidity was overbearing; the pitiful rags she wore, sopping wet. The musty, damp smell invoked images of dungeons she had visited as a tourist earlier in the summer.

The guard grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to her feet beside his other captive. Both were bloodied from the fall, but the child’s eyes still showed no connection with the world around her. He shoved them both down the dark tunnel.

The Forgotten by Spencer Hawke (Now also available in Large Font for the Visually Impaired). A book that has, as it’s central theme a story about a victim caught in the child/sex/organ trafficking trade, is difficult to write in a PG 13 mode. But the story MUST be told, until the problem is eradicated. (The previous link is an excellent article).

Although it is difficult to be heard above the political season ramblings of Jeb Bush and Hillary Clinton I hope the voices of the world’s youngest victims will be ignored no longer.

To Contact me or Join my Crusade email

To Contact me or Join my Crusade email

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“The Forgotten by Spencer Hawke”



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